


You Will Never Be Happy (So Don’t Even Try)

by zeldadestry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:25:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean drinks- whatever abilities he imagines he has are blunted.  It’s when he’s sober that he thinks he sees demons but it’s so much easier for people to believe the reverse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Will Never Be Happy (So Don’t Even Try)

That fucking dream again. A man, standing in the shadows, and Sam can’t see the rest of his face but his eyes shine yellow.

His eyes shine yellow and he laughs. 

 

“I won’t be here over the weekend,” Sam tells her, after he’s dressed but before he leaves her bedroom.

“I’m sure I’ll find some other way to amuse myself,” Meg says. She follows him to the front door of the apartment and watches as he pulls on his sport coat and slips on his loafers. “Business?”

“My brother’s being released. I’m going to go get him.”

“Crazy Dean.” Meg smirks.

“Not funny, not cute,” Sam says, and smacks her hard on the ass.

“I’d tell you to have fun, but there can’t be much of that, stuck babysitting a guy who believes the world’s full of demons and it’s his job to exorcise them.” 

Sam never should have told her. “Look, I know how it sounds, but it’s not his fault. He’s been through a lot.”

“Haven’t we all,” Meg says, and slams the door between them shut.

 

“I want-” He’s been thinking about this for a long time and that’s what makes it difficult to say.

“Hmm?” Jess rolls over towards him, brushes her fingertips over his heart.

“I want him to come back here, with me, with us. If he will. That’s what I want.” 

Her eyes are still closed so he could almost imagine she’s sleeping, doesn’t hear him, except for the furrow of her brow that doesn’t clear after she nods.

“Ok?” he says, because he needs, feels obligated, to make sure.

“If that’s what you want, yeah,” she murmurs, and curls a hand around the back of his neck. “I mean- if that’s what you think is best.”

 

How he sets it up, the settlements out of court, the big money payouts, the promises for an extended stay at an inpatient facility for treatment- it’s worked, so far.

The counselor who runs the program, a psychiatrist he and Jess knew from school, vouches for Dean each time, says that he’s working on his issues, that he only causes problems when he relapses. 

It’s not true. When Dean drinks- whatever abilities he imagines he has are blunted. It’s when he’s sober that he thinks he sees demons but it’s so much easier for people to believe the reverse. 

The doctor explains Dean’s current regimen, lists for Sam the meds he’s been prescribed this time. Sam listens closely, though he knows it doesn’t matter. Dean’s not himself when he takes the pills and so Sam has never encouraged him to do so. Dean never wants to take them, and Sam supports him in that. Sometimes he wonders if that makes him a selfish asshole, if he’s hurting Dean. But he can’t live with that washed out version of Dean. He won’t.

 

It’s a single room, mostly bare, although there’s a stack of books in a box on the floor by the bed, and sections of newspaper spread across the desk. Dean’s sitting in a ratty armchair, his head turned towards the window. He’s wearing headphones and holding the mp3 player Sam sent him in the mail a few weeks ago after someone stole his old one. With his free hand, he taps a beat out on his thigh. Sam stands in the doorway for a long moment, watching. The clouds must be shifting across the sky, the sun, because light shines over Dean’s face, disappears, and then returns again. “Hey,” he says, stepping into the room. “Dean.” 

“Sam!”

The hug is as he remembers, expects, almost bruising, full breaths are overrated, but something’s still missing. “You never call me Sammy anymore.”

Dean frowns. “Did I ever?”

“Never mind. You ready?”

“Locked and loaded. Let’s get the fuck outta here.” 

 

They stop downtown for lunch, first. The diner is crowded and before Dean looks at the menu in front of him he examines the crowd, his eyes passing over almost everyone without reaction, and Sam’s about to give up monitoring him when he cringes. “What?” Sam says.

“Old guy at the end of the counter, wearing the suspenders.”

“Yeah?”

“Not anymore, but when he was a kid.”

“That far back and you can still tell?”

“Call it whatever you want, a stain or a scar, but possession leaves a trace. Nothing you or anybody else can do about it.”

Dean’s forearm is resting on the table and Sam notes a round burn marring the otherwise smooth expanse of skin. He gently traces the new mark with his thumb. “Well, it’s over, now.”

Dean curls his hand into a fist. “It’s never over.”

 

“Where are we going?” Dean asks, as they pull onto the highway.

“Home.”

“San Francisco?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.”

 

Jess is out when they arrive, but she’s already set up the guest room with fresh sheets and tulips in a vase on the dresser. 

Dean whistles when he sees the new place. “Damn, this is nice. You’ve done well for yourself, huh?”

“Well, Jess’s family has money so they helped us with the down payment, and she’s pretty indispensable at her office, plus, I keep getting promoted, so- we can afford it, basically.”

“You still work there?” Dean frowns.

“Just for now.” As far as Sam knows, Dean’s dislike of his company is entirely based on his belief that some of the people who work there are possessed so it’s not really worth it to extend the discussion. 

 

“Dean!” Jess cries, and pushes the paper bags she’s carrying off onto Sam. 

He knows she expects him to dutifully take the groceries into the kitchen but instead he stands there, holding them, unwilling to leave Dean alone.

“It’s good to see you,” Jess says. She hugs him. “Are you hungry?”

“We stopped for lunch on the way back,” Sam says.

“Yeah, but it’s a long drive and it’s almost dinnertime, now.” Jess rests a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I got steak.”

“Awesome.”

“And-” Jess takes back one of the bags Sam’s holding and presents it to Dean. “Check out what the bakery has. Mini pies. I bought six different kinds!”

“You’re seriously the best,” Dean says, and even blushes when Jess clings to him again and drops kisses all over his face.

“Let’s eat,” Jess says, when she finally pulls away. She takes Dean’s hand and leads him off towards the kitchen.

Sam trails a few steps behind, watching them. 

 

Sam put security cameras in at their place when he started this job because he knew the work was going to require a lot of travel and it made him anxious to think of Jess being alone. He wanted to be able to check in on her at any time and make sure she was ok. She agreed to it, then, knowing how jumpy he was about safety after what happened to his mom, but she would never have allowed it if he’d been honest about how often he intended to use it. He knows how fucked up it is that he checks up on her, especially since he’s the one that’s stepping out. 

The habit’s only gotten worse since Dean arrived. He watches even more, now, and although there’s always been audio available, he’s never used it before. Alone, in his office, he can see Dean and Jessica sharing a late breakfast of eggs Florentine. They’re sitting side by side on stools at the kitchen counter, and Sam puts in a pair of earbuds and turns on the option to hear them. 

“So, no herd of rugrats, huh?” Dean says. “The last time I saw you, you were talking about that.”

“I was thinking about it, yeah, but- I’ve never been sure.”

“No reason to rush it- I get that. You guys would make great kids, though, smart, cute-” Dean takes another big bite of his breakfast and grins at her, “and awesome in the kitchen.” 

Jess smiles and pours him more coffee. “Even if I did decide, though, I think it’s better to adopt.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I mean, there are some issues, you know, on both sides of the family tree.”

Dean clenches his fist around the cloth napkin in his left hand. “You mean the drinking?”

Jess takes a deep breath. “And the other psychological issues.”

“So what you’re saying is you’d rather not have a kid who’s a delusional psychotic?” Dean presses the tip of his index finger to his temple and laughs. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jess chants, reaching out for Dean’s hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Hey, it’s ok. You didn’t offend me.”

“No, seriously, Dean, it’s not that.” Her eyes fix on the scar running down Dean’s neck. “You’re so- reckless. Sometimes it seems like you want to get hurt, even worse, killed. You have no idea how much I worry about you.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t- I always have reasons. Good reasons. It’s not about me or what I want. Sometimes I just, I have to do things because, if I didn’t- something worse would happen.”

“Ok,” Jess says. 

Sam watches them for a few more minutes as they sit together in silence and finish up their plates. 

 

Sam leaves work early that night, just a little after six. Dean hadn’t done much that day. After his meal with Jessica, she left to go to the office and Dean retreated to the guest room, where he stayed in bed for hours, without even turning on music or the tv. He just lay there, eyes half-open, watching shadows move.

Sam could take him out, of course, to a sports bar or something. It might be good for him to be distracted- but Dean can have trouble in crowds. Everything might turn out fine but there’s always the possibility that someone who passes by them will set Dean off, make him tense and ready to fight. That unpredictability won’t do anything for his peace of mind or Sam’s. 

“Hey,” Sam says, from the doorway of the guest room. 

“What time is it?” Dean asks.

“A little after seven.”

Dean turns his head to the side so he can look at Sam. “You’re home real early. I mean, for you. You get fired or something?”

“Not yet. How are you feeling?”

“I’m ok.”

“I’ve got burgers and fries downstairs. You hungry?”

“Beer?”

“Yeah, we’ve got some in the fridge.”

Dean sits up and grins at him. “Pie?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got berry cobbler, is that close enough, your highness?”

“Guess it’ll have to be.”

He sits on the couch with Dean as they watch baseball and hopes Dean understands what he wishes he could say. Hey, I’m here, it’s ok. It’s all ok. 

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night and reaches for his watch on the bedside table. It’s just after three. He manages to get out of bed without disturbing Jess. He walks slowly to the stairs and climbs them, his heart beating abnormally fast. Dean’s standing just outside the door to the guest room, like he expected this, and Sam goes to him without thinking, clings to him. Thank fucking god, skin on skin, finally, again, the only craving he’s ever had that’s stronger than his desire for the blood. Dean’s hot mouth under his own and he pulls away only long enough to drag him into the room and shut the door as quietly as possible behind them. When he turns around, Dean’s sitting at the foot of the bed. Sam bends down over him to kiss the top of his head and then kneels in front of him. It’s always been like this for him, so overwhelming at times that he has to ground himself by focusing on something small and specific. This is his hand, resting on Dean’s knee. These are his fingers tracing circles over the strong muscle of his thigh. He gets lost in the texture of Dean’s hair and his skin, his eyes fixed on where their flesh touches but, when Dean shifts slightly, he looks up immediately. Is that doubt in his eyes? 

Sam lets his hand fall away. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he says. 

“You don’t want to?”

“Not if it- not if it’s not good for you.”

Dean closes his eyes like he’s in pain. “What is?”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers. “I know exactly what you mean.” He stands back up. “Why don’t you get back in bed?” Dean does, and Sam follows, lies beside Dean, and pulls the blanket up over their bodies. He holds open his arms and Dean fits between them like he never left, like they’ve never been apart. Sam kisses the side of his neck, licks the length of his scar, and holds him closer when he shivers.

“Sam,” Dean says, into the dark, just that, just his name.

“Yeah,” Sam echoes back. “Yeah, I’m here, Dean.”

They kiss again but it’s not enough to just taste Dean’s mouth, he needs every inch of his skin, needs to drag his hands over every part of Dean he can reach. “I missed you, you know that, right? I always miss you.” 

“Sam-” Dean’s hand clutches at his shoulder, Dean’s body trembles beside him, yes, but there’s also fear in his voice so Sam is disappointed but not surprised when his next words are, “Stop. We have to stop.”

Sam does, obedient, concerned. “You ok?”

“Don’t want you to have to lie to Jess.”

That’s- Sam spares himself from recriminations, now, because they haven’t done anything to stop him. No matter how much he berates himself, he can’t change what he is- what he can’t help. The first time he decided to see Meg, when he was even considering it- he never told Jess. And that means he’s been lying to her ever since, about what he does, about where he goes. “I already do.”

“We shouldn’t lie to her,” Dean says, voice soft. “We gotta make sure not to hurt her.” He swallows, reaches up and touches Sam’s face with his hand. “Sammy,” he pleads. 

Yeah. Sam gets it. Jess has always been good to Dean. She’s scared of him, sometimes, and she thinks he’s horribly lost, but she also cares for him, and Dean must sense that. And Dean, he understands what Dean means. Dean doesn’t want to hurt Jess, but he also doesn’t want to be apart from Sam- so Sam has to be the one to step back. He has to make sure Dean can’t have him in arm’s reach, even though it’s what they both want. “Ok,” he says, and pulls away from Dean. But he can’t leave, not just yet. He can’t leave the room, it’s like he has to disengage one piece at a time. Body, first, now they’re no longer touching, but he can still hear Dean breathing, feel his heat. 

“I wouldn’t- I wish it could be me,” Dean says, voice incredibly intense, like he could will this world into the way it should be. “I wish I could be here, with you, always, but I- this shit that keeps us apart- it would hurt more if I didn’t try to stop it. I know you don’t believe me but it would be worse, for both of us. For you. I can’t let it be worse for you.”

This is where Sam used to argue, used to try to convince Dean that his nightmares are not real. Now, all he can say is, “Ok. Ok, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for looking out for me.”

 

Sam’s watching them on the surveillance feed again. They’ve had a lot of rose to drink with their brunch but he’s still surprised when Jess says, “Have you met her?” 

“Huh?” Dean turns from the living room window. He likes that view of the bay.

Jess moves slowly towards him, like she can’t trust her feet. Dean goes to her, puts an arm around her shoulder and steers her over to the couch so they can sit down. Jess lays her head on his shoulder and sighs. “You smell so good, Dean.”

“So do you.” 

“Have you?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you met her?”

“Met who?”

“Sam’s girlfriend.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Dean.”

“I’m not. Swear to god, I’m not. Sam wouldn’t do that.”

She shrugs him off of her, puts some space between them, and stares at his face. “You’re not lying,” she finally says. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong, just means he lies to you, too.”

“Jess-”

She holds up a hand. “Don’t- don’t look at me like that, like you feel sorry for me.” 

“I don’t-” She presses her hand over his mouth. He waits until she draws away to repeat, “I don’t!” 

There are tears in Jess’s eyes and Sam wishes he hadn’t looked in on them today but also knows it’s now too late to stop. “You know, Sam told me to never tell you this, but, I believe you.”

“You believe what?” 

“That there are evil beings in this world. That there are demons.” She leans in and clasps a hand around the back of Dean’s neck. “What do you do, Dean?” she says, her lips brushing against his cheek as she speaks. “When you find them, do you kill them?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Did you kill Brady?”

Dean closes his eyes. “He was going to hurt you.”

“Dean, open your eyes, please.” She strokes a hand up and down his spine until he complies. “I believe you,” she says, and kisses him, staring at him the whole time. She squeezes his hand in her own. “I believe you.” 

“Who’s this stranger looking so comfy with your girl?”

Sam closes his laptop. “Hello, Alistair,” he says, without turning around.

Alistair slides into the seat next to Sam at the conference table. “You know what they say,” he drawls. “The pussy cat plays while her master’s away.”

The best way to deal with Alistair is to not give a shit, to not show any weakness or discomfort, but that can be difficult given how creepy the guy is. “That was my brother. He’s staying with us for awhile.”

“Brother, of course.” Bastard thinks he knows everything. “Handsome devil,” he says, but quiet, more like he’s speaking to himself than Sam. “Close?”

“What?”

“The two of you?”

Sam will never get over all the years when he saw Dean only once a year, if they were lucky. He will never quite forgive the foster family who told him, again and again, you belong with us, now, Sam, we’re so glad you’re here. He couldn’t think of them as “mom” or “dad” no matter how many times they asked him to call them that. A mother, a father, he could think of them like that. Not his, never his, no one was his but Dean, and he didn’t just accept that, it was also how he wanted it. 

He remembers a cold, fuckin freezing, actually, December day, in the suburbs of Chicago, at a one story house with a plastic manger scene out in front and a basketball hoop over the garage and a string of colored lights hanging from the rain gutter. He held a gift in his hands, wrapped in the previous week’s Sunday comics, waiting, waiting, and then, finally, Dean appeared. 

Neither of them could ever look at each other first. It was always a sequence of realizing, finally, he’s here and then there was the hug, it happened by instinct and it was only then, with Dean in his arms and Dean’s arms around him, that he could he be sure. They were both alive, they were both ok. And then, after they separated, there would be the long moment when they could take each other in, see each other. 

“You’re gettin tall, Sammy.”

“Yeah. Hurts sometimes, you know, when I’m trying to sleep.”

“Growing pains.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dina says.”

“Dina?”

“The mother.”

“Oh, right.”

“What about you? What do you call them, the family you live with?”

Dean only shrugged. 

Sam showed off his stretch marks and Dean smiled. Somehow, all of it- he never worried as long as Dean could still smile. 

Sam clears his throat, realizes there is absolutely nothing here he’s willing to share, not with anyone, much less the bloodsuckers he works with. “Did you get the new numbers, the projections, on that startup?” he says.

“Everything is proceeding according to plan.” Alistair grins, an expression as nauseating as all his others. He’s got no heart, Sam can tell, but he pretends, and that’s what’s so disturbing. 

 

Dean’s sprawled out on the living room couch in front of the tv, asleep. Sam’s been watching him for the past twenty minutes.

He remembers the first time he kissed Dean, how he freaked out as soon as Dean broke for air and hid his face against Dean’s chest, terrified that he’d somehow set them apart from each other forever. Dean reassured him immediately. “It’s ok, Sammy. Really, Sam, believe me, it’s ok.” 

Jess is calling to him and yet he knows that if Dean were to wake up, right now, and see Sam, see Sam and beckon to him, he would walk forward. He would leave her behind and not even care what she’d see between them, that she’d know. It wouldn’t matter. None of it had ever mattered when he was with Dean. 

Dean sleeps on, though, so Sam turns and walks down the hall to the master suite. Jess is standing, just inside the door, her hands on the handle of her traveling bag. “I can’t do this,” she says. “I need to leave.” 

Relief. Weight falling off of his shoulders. She’s gonna be free. She’s gonna be happy. Two things she couldn’t be with him, not really. “Whatever you want.” 

“I can’t keep pretending.” 

“I am so sorry.” And he is. She deserved so much better. But he lives with this crazed creature inside of him and he can’t escape its claws, he can’t control it. It controls him. And he knows, in his secret heart, he knows, he wouldn’t stop it, even if he could, because it helps him, sometimes, it’s what allows him to do whatever he needs to do for Dean. 

“I’m gonna say good bye to Dean.”

Sam nods, and goes to sit at the foot of the bed. He can see the driveway from there. He waits until he sees the car Jess ordered pull away from the curb and then he walks back to the living room, only to find that Dean’s no longer there.

It’s a long day, alone in the house. At one point, he actually finds himself looking up a photograph he found online of Meg back when she lived in Massachusetts. There’s something so different about her now, no trace of softness in her eyes. 

 

“Where the hell have you been?”

Dean closes the front door behind him. “Aw, were you worried?”

“Yes, I was. Don’t fucking joke about it.” 

“Sorry, Sammy. Needed to take a walk, clear my head.”

“It’s almost midnight. That’s a pretty long walk. Where the hell did you go, to Marin?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“So, did it work?”

“Huh?”

“You all clearheaded, now?”

Dean shrugs. “Guess it takes more than a walk.” Dean moves further inside but won’t look at him. 

Sam reaches out, grasps his arm. “Hey, you ok?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Dean shakes his head. “I move in, Jess moves out. Have to be pretty stupid to think that’s a coincidence.” 

Sam slides his hand up Dean’s arm and over his shoulder until he can cup the side of his neck. “Listen to me. Things were- I haven’t been- the last few months, I haven’t been who she expects me to be. Right now? Right now, I’m pretty sure she’d rather share the house with you than with me.” 

Now Dean looks at him. “Wait- when you said- when we were talking about Jess, and lying to her, I thought you meant about me. About me and you.”

“No. I mean, yeah, I never talked to her about that.” Sam takes a deep breath, presses his thumb into Dean’s throat until he feels his pulse. “This.” 

“And the last few months?”

“There was something else I didn’t tell her.”

“She told me. I didn’t think it was true. She said you had a girlfriend.”

“No.” Sam lets go of Dean and steps back from him. He’s always trusted Dean, relied on the bond between them, and he doesn’t want any of the guilt and confusion he feels about this- fucked up whatever the fuck it is with Meg- to interfere. “She's not my girlfriend. It's not- it's never been like that. I don't even like her, most of the time. I don't know why I do it and I wish I could stop.”

“Stop what?” 

This is not a conversation Sam ever wanted to have. “It’s not sexual, not exactly. I mean, it is, I guess, I think we both get off on it, but we don’t have sex. It’s more like- it’s a kink.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it?” Dean’s face- he doesn’t look disgusted or surprised, he looks- resigned. Maybe he’s always suspected the same things Sam has about himself, that he’s different from other people, in some fundamental and frightening way. “It’s, um- I guess you’d call it blood play. I want the taste of her blood.” Dean winces and covers his mouth with his hand. “Dean?”

“It’s not your fault, Sammy,” Dean mumbles. “Don’t ever think it’s your fault.” His eyes start to tear.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just- they told me- I didn’t want to believe them. But I guess- everything they’ve ever told me, it’s always come true.” 

“Who? Who’s telling you things?”

“The angels.” 

Jesus Christ. So now Dean believes there are angels as well as demons haunting him? When will they be free of this? “Dean, are you sure? Maybe you just-”

“These aren’t dreams. Not daydreams, either. I’d- I don’t want you to see what I see or hear what I hear. I’m glad that you don’t. I wouldn’t even show it to you if I could, even if it meant you would believe me. I’m gonna protect you from all that.” Dean opens up his arms and gathers Sam in, gives him the hug he needs, holds him close. 

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, because he heard the floorboards creak in the upstairs hallway. He gets to the backdoor before Dean does, is waiting there, beside the kitchen counter. “I can’t let you leave.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Sam.”

Sam gets between Dean and the door. “I think I fucking can.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dean, listen. Do you know how much shit I’ve had to do over the last few years to keep you free? Do you know how much money I’ve paid, how many people I’ve had to charm or bribe? Shit, if that was all it was, the money and influence, I wouldn’t care- but it’s been- I’ve had to lie, at times, and I’ve had to threaten, and I don’t even care, I’ll do all of that. I’ll do all of it and I won’t care, I’ll do it, and I won’t even be sorry, but, if you’re not fuckin careful-” A body I can’t bury, he thinks. “If you fuck with the wrong person- not everything can be solved, erased, ok?”

“I have a job. I can’t worry about anything else.”

Sam leans back against the door, crosses his arms over his chest. “Permanently institutionalized. Prison, an asylum, fuck if I know which one, but, yeah- that’s what we’re looking at, that’s what we’re talking about. Shit, but that’s not even- those places have visiting hours, so, we’re still not at worst case. What you do is dangerous-”

“No shit.”

“It could get you killed.”

“If I don’t-”

“What?”

“You’re saying I have to stop what I’m doing because it could get me killed. But what you don’t understand is that I don’t care. I can’t stop, Sam.” 

“Why not?”

“Because, if I do? It could get you killed.”

Sam shakes his head. “I’m not in danger.”

“Yeah, you are.” 

“Dean, I am begging you here. I will get down on my fucking knees, if I have to. I’m here, and I’m ok, but I am not going to be if you walk out that door. I can’t spend another fucking minute worrying about you. Please, please, listen to me. If you care about me, like I care about you, drop that bag, turn the fuck around and go back to sleep.” Dean puts the bag down. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” 

“You- uh-”

“Yeah?”

“Can I-”

“What?”

“While you sleep- I can, you know, be there, to make sure you’re ok.”

“If that’s what you want, yes, of course.”

Dean takes off his boots and leaves them on the mat in the kitchen. Then he returns to the master bedroom with Sam. Sam gets back in bed and Dean sits down in a chair in the corner of the room, looking out the window.

“Whenever you get tired,” Sam says, arranging the covers how he likes them, “you get in here with me, ok?”

“I’m not tired,” Dean says. “Sleep tight.”

 

When Sam wakes, light is just beginning to seep into the room. Dean’s so close to him in bed, their faces are so close together on their pillows, and he wonders if they moved that way without conscious intent, curled in towards each other by instinct. Dean’s watching him and something in his gaze gives Sam hope. 

“Sammy,” Dean says, and lays his hand upon Sam’s cheek. Sam can’t do anything but nod, part his lips. “Why don’t you believe me about the demons?”

Sam clasps the front of Dean’s shirt with both hands. “Fucking listen to me. I don’t care about the demons. I don’t care if they’re real, I don’t care if they’re not, all I care about is that they make you fuckin miserable. How many times have you tried to kill yourself?” Dean starts to interrupt but Sam kisses him hard to shut him up. “Ok, ok, sorry, I know you say that’s not what it is, but how many times have you put yourself in danger? I can’t take it, I can’t stand the risks you put yourself in, and I’m telling you to stop. Just stop.”

He looks at Dean, he waits, and, when Dean doesn’t say anything, he’s desperate enough to pretend that the silence means agreement. He strips Dean, takes his time moving so slowly down his body. He has such a good reason to take what he wants, here, to suck on Dean’s nipples or balls or the head of his cock for as long as he wants, for as long as Dean can take. He has the best reason, because Dean has said it himself, he sees them less when he’s wasted, whether on alcohol or orgasms, and if that means that he and Sam need to fuck a dozen times a day, if that’s what it takes, then that’s exactly what they’re gonna do.

 

“Sam?”

It’s just before noon and Sam feels both smug and satisfied that he wore Dean out enough to sleep so late. “Hey, back to the land of the living?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Dean stumbles over to the kitchen table and takes the coffee mug Sam offers.

Sam watches him as he drinks. The blend was Jess’s favorite, half decaf, but he doesn’t plan to admit that for a few days, after Dean’s hopefully caught up on his sleep. “I went out earlier to pick up some breakfast. There’s a plate in the oven, when you’re hungry.” He collects the pages of the report he was going over, puts the folder back in his bag, and stands up from the table. 

It’s a little unsettling how quickly Dean jumps to attention. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t- do you have to go?”

“I should.”

“Can’t you work from home?”

“They don’t love it but, yeah, I can probably get away with it.”

“Then stay. Don’t go to the office.”

Sam sits back down and Dean relaxes. 

 

Around 6 pm, Sam puts aside his work and he and Dean start talking about dinner. Dean insists on cooking, so Sam goes to run on the treadmill and shower afterwards.

Dean makes spaghetti Bolognese, along with a big salad, and Sam breaks out a few different reds, why the hell not, so that they can try them all and see what they like best. 

They eat chocolate ice cream for dessert and even though Dean always denies it when Sam calls him out, it’s obvious that he deliberately eats messy because then Sam’s obligated to lean over and lick him clean.

 

When Dean gets in bed that night, he brings a blade with him and offers it to Sam.

“I want you to have it,” he says, “if you want it.”

It’s tempting. It’s so fucking tempting but it’s not worth cutting Dean. “I don’t need it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He looks Dean in the eyes and nods. “Put it away.”

 

He dreams about it, though, after he drifts off, dreams of how Dean would taste. Meg was sometimes sour on his tongue, sometimes too sharp. Dean would be just warm and rich and perfect. 

Just the idea of it- of Dean offering, of Sam knowing he can have it, if he needs it, is powerful and makes it easier to let go of what has started to feel like an addiction. 

Meg’s been texting him for days, first asking and then demanding to know when they’re going to see each other again, and he finally sends a reply. Simple and easy, something like, “hey, it’s been nice knowing you,” even though that’s kind of a lie, it’s been desire and despair blended together, “but I’m done with this, I won’t be seeing you again, good bye.”

She leaves an angry voice message. “You’re crazy if you think you’re going to be able to just let this go. You really think it’s that easy? You wish, Sam. You wish.”

 

He wakes up in the middle of the night. He sits up in bed and turns to look down at Dean in the weak light of the streetlamps filtered through the closed shades. He wants to run his fingers through his hair, he wants to lean over and kiss him, all over his face, but he also doesn’t want to risk waking him. He gets out of bed. The clock on the oven tells him it’s 4:03 am. He turns towards the front door, without knowing why and, when the knock comes, he’s not even that surprised. 

He opens the door for her. “Miss me?” Meg asks.

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice is shaky. “Can we talk, Sam? I’ve missed you.”

He never cared for her, not really, and he knew that, and the guilt over essentially using her is still there, so he feels like he’s doing the right thing when he says, “Sure, ok, yeah.” Meg steps through the front door. “What are you doing up at this hour, anyway?” Sam asks.

“Trouble sleeping.”

“Yeah. Me too.” She takes a step towards him and he holds up his hand. She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I just-” He’s scared, he realizes. It doesn’t make any sense. She’s not a threat to him, physically. She’s wearing form-fitting clothes, so there’s no way she’s got a weapon on her, but his instinct is shouting danger. 

He takes a step back and she follows forward. He takes another step back and, this time, when she tries to advance, her feet don’t move, like invisible hands are holding her legs. “Tricky bastard,” she mutters, staring down at the rug. “Fucking little shit.” She looks back at Sam and he sees her, now, he sees the cold fury and he knows that everything she’s shown him up until this minute has been an act. “Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“Who told you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sammy!” Sam spins around, following the sound of Dean’s voice. “Get away from her.” 

Sam walks over to him. “Dean, it’s ok.”

“She’s a demon, Sam.”

“You must be Dean,” Meg says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Shut up.” He touches Sam’s shoulder. “Stay here.” He places the handle of the blade he had the other night into Sam’s hand. “Hold this. Don’t let go. I’m going to show you, just so you understand for sure. I don’t want you to think- I don’t want you to think we’re doing this for any other reason than because we have to protect ourselves.” Dean walks towards Meg. 

“You have no idea how badly my friends want to meet you,” Meg says. 

“Oh, I know they have plans for this sweet ass.” Dean crouches down to the floor, out of Meg’s reach, and lifts up the rug. He points to the red paint on the floorboards underneath it. “That’s called a devil’s trap,” he says to Sam. “I made it the first night I stayed here.” He drops the corner of the rug and stands back up. “Can you see her eyes?”

“Yeah.”

“Watch this.” Sam doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be looking for when Dean suddenly shouts “Cristo!” at Meg so, when her eyes turn black and she hisses, he almost drops the knife in surprise.

“Holy shit.”

Meg laughs. “Like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t.” Dean walks back to Sam. He mouths something. “Slower,” Sam says.

You believe me?

It was never about not trusting Dean. It was about not wanting to believe there was shit so bad in this world. He’s gonna have to make that clear, as soon as he can, but right now they’ve got the more immediate problem to deal with. “Yes,” he says. “Of course.”

Dean nods. He leans in and whispers. “The body is not the demon. The demon is using the body. We can send the demon back to hell. There’s a ritual, an exorcism, but they can always find their way back. The knife can kill the demon, but it will also hurt the body. One is better for our safety, but it sacrifices the victim.”

“What do you think?”

Dean looks down. “I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I don’t want you in danger, either.” 

Sam thinks of the old photograph of Meg he found and understands now that it must be the real Meg Masters. Doesn’t she deserve protection, too? “Do the ritual.”

“She’s gonna talk a lot of shit, they usually do. Ignore her.”

She doesn’t talk while Dean recites, she screams, condemning them with insults, threats, and curses, but Dean doesn’t waver or flinch, so at least it’s over quickly.

After the black smoke streams out of her mouth, her body crumples to the floor. Sam watches as the smoke rushes into the fireplace and escapes up the chimney. When he looks back, Dean is bent over her, feeling for a pulse at her throat.

Sam’s not sure his own heart is beating. “Is she dead?”

“Demons really- they ride a body hard, you know?” Dean sighs, his shoulders momentarily slumping.

Sam cries then, for a little while, and he’s not ashamed to admit what just happened is a lot to take in. Dean waits him out, his arms strong around Sam, his hands steady when they stroke up and down Sam’s back. He doesn’t let go until Sam tells him, “I’m ok. I’m ok.” 

Dean has his game face on. “Did she drive here?”

“I think so. I heard a car pull up.” Sam walks to the window and looks out onto the driveway. “Yeah, it’s here.”

“Ok, good. Where did she live?”

Sam recites the address.

Dean nods. “I’m gonna take care of this.”

“I can help.”

“No. You need- get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”

 

It’s not easy to sleep, not when Dean’s out there, alone, but he’s exhausted. When he wakes up, Dean’s leaning over him. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah.”

He looks so sad and Sam takes his face between both his hands before he kisses him. “I’m sorry, I’m really, really fucking sorry,” he whispers against Dean’s mouth. “I didn’t want to believe it, Dean. That’s why- that’s why I was so stubborn and I’m sorry you were alone with it for so long.” 

“Don’t even think about that. Doesn’t matter. Focus on what we need now, ok?”

“What’s that?”

“We have to go, Sam. Meg knew you were here. That means others do. She’s not a free agent. She was sent. We need to leave.”

“Are you- are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I wish there was another way.” 

Sam remembers a weekend, feels like so many years, no, lifetimes, ago, when Dean was supposed to visit on a Sunday afternoon. Sam waited all day but he never arrived. He was worried and disappointed but he understood that whatever had happened, it wasn’t Dean’s choice not to show. When the foster parents told him, a few days later, that Dean had been arrested, Sam knew that whether it was for picking a pocket, or hitchhiking, or stealing a car, or what fucking ever, it’d happened because he was trying to get to Sam. “It’s ok, Dean. It- it’s like you said, it doesn’t matter. Wherever the fuck we’re headed, we’re going there together.”

“Yeah? That a promise?”

Dean brushes their noses together. It tickles and, even now, with the absolute shitshows behind them and ahead of them, Sam can’t help laughing at the playful touch. He’s still smiling when he says, “It’s a fuckin guarantee.”


End file.
